He's a Keeper

Chapter 1 - Class

Breathe slowly. Start in a comfortable position. Don't put all your weight on one arm or leg.

I lay under the bright lights of the prop stage. A grey blanket covered my waist and my arm rested over my face.

The gentle scratch of pencil on paper filled the room and I allowed myself to relax.

It was peaceful. It was safe. I was exposed and vulnerable, but surrounded by the miscellaneous props, old easels, and artists absorbed in their craft, it felt comfortable... 

Well, as comfortable as staying completely still for a couple hours can be...

---

The sound of a door closing pulled me from the quietness of my own head. 

I opened my eyes to see Mr. Hill, the instructor, introducing himself to someone. The person was tall, with hair that fell over his eyes, hiding his face. He took a seat tentatively, turned his head to survey the room.

Then his eyes fell on me. Dark and calm.

I blinked at the sudden eye contact and, embarrassed, looked away.

When I looked back, he was gently sketching on a piece of paper.

---

"Alright, that's time. Get your last lines in."

I waited patiently for the signal from Mr. Hill and after a curt nod, finally sat up and stretched. It felt amazing.

Mr. Hill walked over with a robe and handed it to me. I put it on slowly, tying the rope around my waist.

"Owen! Good work today!" A couple of students came up to thank me.

I nodded politely, shaking outstretched hands. There was a little small talk as people began to file out. 

Finally the room was empty.

I began to walk towards the closet to change, when Mr. Hill exclaimed, "Ah. Jacob forgot his drawings."

Out of curiosity I peered over his shoulder.

The drawing was hesitant and light, but it carried such a heavy realism, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

Extra care was put into the hands and the eyes. Every nail carefully shaded, every eyelash sweeping and dark.

I turned away, my heart racing, and hurried to the closet.